


Back to Normal

by Deannie



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s01e10-e11 The Storm/The Eye, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Sheppard comes to grips with Rodney's actions during Kolya's occupation of Atlantis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to Normal

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fragment that sat on my hard drive for a few million years. Since it wasn't too far from being done, I figured I'd finish it. 
> 
> Thanks to Natlyn and Jenny for the beta. You two are still awesome after all these years!

I'm sitting here, on a log—in the rain again (I'm really sick of rain)—wondering why this happened.  
  
Guess I should be wondering why it took so long.  
  
See, I figured I was fine. I mean, it's been almost a week since I last woke up in a cold sweat, still seeing that nightmare of Elizabeth lying in a pool of her own blood. I still dream about McKay, strung up, bleeding from a dozen "interrogation points," but like most of those dreams I've had the last fifteen years, I sleep through them, watching. After what I saw in Afghanistan, I know more than I need to about torture—from both sides—and I guess my subconscious likes to mull it over every once in a while. Rodney's just the latest convenient fall guy.  
  
And it's not like he was disfigured, after all. The scar's only a couple of inches long. It doesn't even seem to be bothering him too much, which I guess  _is_  sort of weird. I'd've thought McKay would have talked my ear off about the damn thing—bitching and moaning, and generally being Rodney.  
  
Maybe he hasn’t been doing any better than I have. I thought we were getting back to normal, but maybe I'm just kidding myself.  
  
God, It was just a little joke! I don't even know why it slipped out. One minute he and Teyla are heading out to visit the locals while Ford and I hang around with the archeology team, guarding them as they look over what's left of the Ancient way station, and the next I'm opening my stupid mouth.  
  
"Don't give away any state secrets, huh, McKay?"  
  
What an idiot.  
  
He just... stared at me. For too damn long. And I could see that insecure little kid he's got in him, and it was hurt. Really hurt. And, being a hurt little kid, it lashed out.  
  
"Yes, well," he snapped, sounding more like Rodney than he has in a very long time. "I'll certainly try, Major, thank you. If you could keep from getting the rest of the team killed while I'm gone, I'd appreciate it."  
  
And off he went, Teyla giving me a disturbed glare before she followed him. And I stood there like an idiot, just as hurt as he was.  
  
Because he was right—but then, McKay always is, isn't he? In that one moment on that balcony, screaming at Kolya and hearing only silence, I thought Elizabeth was dead. She was dead, and I killed her, because I couldn't stop thinking like a soldier. See the bigger objective, John, right? Collateral damage happens. Hell, it doesn't even matter if the collateral damage is a friend—just get the job done. Elizabeth was dead, God only knew what they'd done to Rodney to get him to talk...  
  
But, damn it, we  _got_  the job done! Rodney pulled the rabbit out of his hat like he always does, Ford swooped in right in the nick of time, and we saved the day. Go team.  
  
Why the hell is this still a problem!?  
  
"Sir?" The voice behind me is tentative, a little sad... a lot worried.  
  
Ford. He's a good kid, but sometimes he's way too sensitive to other people's feelings. I don't know how his drill sergeant ever put up with him. He can be a soldier when he needs to be, but sometimes I think he'd do better in the Peace Corps. Of course, in the Peace Corps, he couldn't play with that ordinance he loves so much, could he?  
  
"Major?"  
  
"What do you need, Lieutenant?" Focus, John. He's talking to you.  
  
"Dr. Barret and his team are finishing up," he announces, coming around to face me. "He doesn't think there's much more he can learn here."  
  
I snort. Damn. It's starting to rain again. "Ancients didn't leave him any toys to play with?"  
  
He grins. God, sometimes he looks twelve. I was never that young—even when I was. "No, sir. He's ready to go back."  
  
I finally pull myself to my feet, grunting at what shouldn't be much effort. Hell, maybe I just don't want to face the inevitable. "Then I guess it's time to go get our negotiation team."  
  
"He'll get over it, sir."  
  
"Sure he will, Lieutenant." I just don't know that I will. I thumb my radio on, watching as Team Barret packs up for the trip home.  
  
"Teyla, this is Sheppard." God, I'm tired. "How are you guys doing?"  
  
"We are doing well." She always sounds so... I don't know. In control. I wonder what would've happened if she'd been running the op during the storm. "We have been invited to remain for a celebration to mark the planting of the Myknon."  
  
"Whatever a Myknon is," I mutter before I press the button again. Ford smiles. "The archeology team's all set. Any chance of a rain check?" I just want to go home.  
  
Apparently Rodney needs to explain what a rain check is, because it takes a minute for her to reply. "I believe it would be most beneficial to our negotiations for us to remain, Major Sheppard." Well, great. "We will meet you back at Atlantis."  
  
Oh no you won't. "Ah, negative. Look, we'll get the scientists home safe and come and meet you, how's that?"  
  
"Major, Just go home." McKay's pretty pissed. Still. "We can take care of things here just fine without you."  
  
Part of me hopes he ends up drunk on a table, dancing in his skivvies. But there's still no way I'm leaving half my team on a strange planet.  
  
"It has been... difficult... to gain the Yundons's trust, Major." At least Teyla sounds reasonable. "The planting of the Myknon is a sacred event for them, and they may be disturbed by more strangers in their midst."  
  
Crap. "We'll send the scientists back home. Ford and I will hold position at the gate." That's as much rope as you're going to get, kids. Try not to hang yourselves with it.  
  
"Fine." Funny, Rodney. Doesn't sound like you think it's fine. "Just stop talking. We're negotiating."  
  
I bite down hard on the urge to repeat my earlier command about secrets. After all, that's what got me into this in the first place.  
  
"Sheppard out." Great, John. Why don't you stomp your feet like a four-year-old while you're at it.  
  
* * * *  
  
It's wet  _and_  dark now. Joy.  
  
Eight and a half hours. I checked in with Teyla two hours ago, and she assured me that they'd probably be able to leave soon. Sounded kind of weird, though. Not worried or anything, but... I don't know. Weird.   
  
"You think we should go after them, sir?"  
  
See what I mean? The kid's just picking up on my worry. No, I'm not worried, I'm pissed. McKay pissed me off, and I haven't even gotten to take it out of his hide yet. That's what normally happens: Rodney and I butt heads, we bitch at each other, we get over it. Lately we've just been sniping at each other and walking away before the fight can really begin.

Whcih means it can't end, either.

Eight and a half hours is a long time.  
  
"Give 'em a little more time, Lieutenant." Good, John. That sounded real positive. "I'm sure they're just taking in the local sights."  
  
"It's dark, sir."  
  
Thanks. I needed to be reminded.  
  
"Major..." Ford settles in on a log across the fire from me. Pretty poor excuse for a fire, really, but the rain is fine enough that at least it stays lit. "I'm sure Dr. McKay didn't mean what he said."  
  
No, I'm pretty sure he did. He's seen my track record—I guess he just figures he'll eventually end up another in the long line of dead bodies.  
  
I suddenly wonder how well he's been sleeping the last few weeks. Looking back, I sort of had the easy part. McKay was the one with the gun in his face. Elizabeth had nothing but praise for him, after the fact, but I could tell she thought he was at least as much of a basketcase as she was.  
  
"He's just blowing off steam," I reply after a moment. "It was bound to happen some time."  
  
And I was bound to lose control some time, too. Of course, if I hadn't said what I said, he wouldn't have said what  _he_  said, and... And I'd be home right now instead of soaked to the skin while he and Teyla dance the night away in some alien church service-slash-garden party.  
  
God, why did I say that, anyway? I mean, he did the best he could, he just... wasn't up to that particular type of interrogation.  
  
He wasn't strong enough.  
  
Oh, now, that's just wrong, John. You're a soldier. You have to deal with that kind of thing. A scientist shouldn't have to deal with more than a broken test tube, or transistor, or... whatever. Put yourself in his shoes for a minute.  
  
But I can't do that. I can't do that because all I can remember is Kolya telling me that Dr. McKay was giving up secrets. All I could remember was the way I spent the rest of the crisis wondering what the hell they could have done to him to make him talk.  
  
There was that one moment—the moment  _before_  I thought I'd killed Weir. I even remember bitching at Kolya about the hell he was going to get from Rodney for blowing the grounding station, all the while praying that McKay was in a condition to give  _anyone_  hell.  
  
I heard him—just for a second, and only because Koyla opened his comm a little sooner than he'd probably planned. "—can't possibly— _get off me!_ " That was it. All I heard. And the last part of it was so pained, I thought I had a pretty good picture of how much damage they'd done.  
  
And then he was fine! We’d almost lost the whole damn city—we  _did_  lose two good men, and there was barely a scratch on him! Oh, sure, he had to have a few stitches, and I guess he has a little nerve damage because he still shakes that hand sometimes, like he can't quite feel it right... but he was fine! He'd given up all that information, been so cooperative in his own Rodney way, and they hadn't done a thing to him!  
  
But looking back, I wonder. I mean, he seemed to bounce back so quickly. If I caught him eating in the commissary in the dead of night, it was only because he was working late in the lab, right? He was jumpy because he was so wrapped up in what he was doing. He's been less snarky than usual because...  
  
Because maybe he sleeps through his nightmares, too.  
  
"Major."  
  
Rodney. "It's about time, Dr. McKay." About time for a lot of things, I guess. Damn. I suck at apologies.  
  
"I'm sorry, Major Sheppard." The snark seems pretty well in place now, though he sounds like he's panting a little. "I'm basically carrying Teyla. It's slowing me down a little."  
  
That's got Ford and me on our feet. "What happened?"  
  
"She’s a little drunk." I'd laugh if I were in a better mood—if I hadn't been out here in the dark thinking about what I've been thinking about for the last nine hours. "The Yundon are apparently a hard-partying lot, even when taking part in their religious ceremonies—which were beautiful, by the way. All flowers and ribbons, though the incense was a bit much."  
  
Predictably, he sneezes over the channel. Great—we’ll be hearing about his allergies for a week. And who knew Teyla could get drunk under the table? By anyone?  
  
"How far out are you?" I ask, motioning to Ford to stay by the gate, while I head out to help our ambassadors stumble home. “And why aren't you drunk?” He doesn’t sound drunk.  
  
“We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Funny thing,” he pants. “The fruit they make their rotgut from? Pretty similar to oranges.” He grunts in effort and I’m reminded that he’s really no more than a scientist. He isn’t made for this.  
  
He wasn’t made for Koyla.  
  
“Teyla explained my allergies and it turns out the chief’s daughter—beautiful, but I wouldn't try your Captain Kirk routine. Her brothers are huge—has a similar problem, so they have something like grape juice that she drinks in these celebrations. Apparently they've never thought to ferment them.”  
  
“Well, lucky you,” I tell him, jogging lightly down the trail. I’m not trying to hurry or anything, but he sounds cold and tired and Teyla really is no lightweight for a lady her size. “Sounds like Teyla’s going to owe you a drink for hauling her home.”  
  
He snorts. “I don’t think Teyla is going to— _Teyla_!”  
  
Now I’m running. “McKay?! What’s going on?” Damn it. I knew we shouldn’t have left them alone there!  
  
“Well that’s just great,” McKay sputters indignantly, the normalcy of it causing me to slow my breakneck pace. “I’m going to itch for a month now—you know throwing up citrus on someone who’s, you know,  _allergic to citrus_  isn’t really the best idea.”  
  
I can hear his voice over the radio and close at hand. I turn past a stand of trees to see him with Teyla’s arm slung over his shoulder and a look of disgust on his face as he stares down at the bright yellow puke that’s covering his neck and his jacket and the top of his pants. Gross. I can feel my pulse slow down again as I take in Teyla’s drunken, semi-conscious state and Rodney’s sturdy stance as he holds on to her, taking the majority of her weight.   
  
“Relax, McKay,” I tell him, walking forward and draping Teyla’s other arm over my own shoulder. “You can take a shower as soon as we get through the gate.” He could let go now and let me take her, but I’m not surprised that he doesn’t. I’m really not—which I guess should, well, surprise me. He's just a scientist after all, right?  
  
Not just. He’s tougher than he looks. I’ve known that for a while—it’s one of the reasons I chose him to join my team.  
  
But that doesn’t make him a soldier. And it doesn’t make him to blame for telling Koyla what he wanted to know.  
  
I’m an ass. I’ve known that for a while, too.  
  
“Wipe that stuff off before you swell up,” I tell him gently. “I got Teyla.”  
  
He gives me a hairy look but slips his shoulder out from under Teyla and pulls a baby wipe—swear to God, that's what it looks like—out of his tac vest and starts to wipe the vomit off his neck. “Yes, um… thank you.”  
  
Rodney quiet. Never a good thing.  
  
“Mayor Shefferp?” Teyla cranes her neck to look up at me, such complete confusion on her face that it makes me chuckle.  
  
“Come on, Teyla,” I tell her, hefting her a little higher as Rodney leads the way to the gate. “Let’s get you home to sleep it off.”  
  
* * * *  
  
We called in our situation before we came through the gate, and Rodney bitched about being covered in orange juice, but I’m a little surprised when we get to the infirmary and Carson takes one look at him and shoves him onto a bed. Rodney’s neck is really red, though, and covered in hives.  
  
“Take it all off, Rodney,” Carson tells him sharply, motioning me to deposit Teyla on the bed beside his. “I’ll want you to shower, obviously, but we’ll get some antihistamine in you first. Nasty, but it's topical.” He pushes past me and starts checking Teyla out. She’s snoring. Loud. Ford gives a snort of amusement beside me. "I expect I'd've heard from you if you were having any trouble breathing from it?"  
  
“No, you would not, because I would be on the floor,  _not breathing_ ,” Rodney mutters, and I notice his right hand is shaking as he tries to take off his vest. He flicks his fingers back and forth irritably and keeps at it.  
  
“Here, let me help you.”  
  
He throws off my hands and gets back to work on the zipper, mastering it finally and sliding out of the mesh. He goes to work on his jacket next, making shorter work of it. “I’m fine, Major, thank you,” he says quietly. He’s clearly anything but.  
  
“Come on, Rodney,” I say quietly, sensing Ford moving off to watch over Teyla, who’s throwing up again. “Let me help.”  
  
He glares at me—which I know I totally deserve—and tosses his shirt on the pile of hazardous waste that used to be his uniform. I can’t help but gasp.  
  
“Jeez, Rodney!” Hives and bright red skin run all the way down to his pants on the left side where she puked on him. Front and back. “That looks really painful.”  
  
“Not painful,” Rodney grits. “Itchy. Very itchy.” He looks over at Carson and raises his voice. “Which would be your cue to get me a nice shot of Benedryl, thank you!”  
  
Carson turns away from Teyla and gets a better look at Rodney’s chest.  
  
“My God, Rodney!” He heads to the medicine cabinet and pulls out a vial, picking up a hypodermic on the way back. “Sit. Now. You didn’t tell me it was that bad!”  
  
“I believe my words were, ‘Teyla threw up about three liters of orange juice down my shirt.’” Rodney snipes back. “Was I being in any way unclear? Ouch!”  
  
Carson rubs the site of the shot he just gave Rodney. “Right. I’ll need to see how far down it goes. Drop trou, then.”  
  
Rodney sighs, but I can see he’s starting not to feel real great. He glares at me again as he reaches for the front of his pants. “Could I have a little privacy here?” he asks plaintively. “Surely I can at least be trusted to take my pants off without an audience?”  
  
I step back as Carson starts to pull the curtain around the bed. Damn it. I’m going to have to find a way to apologize to him later. Right now, I guess I should just leave him alone.  
  
“Don’t go anywhere, Major,” Carson pipes up, sticking his head out of the curtains as I turn away. “Rodney needs to wash as much of this off as he can—though I expect we’re too late for that.” He tsks at whatever Rodney’s showing off behind the curtain. “Get that gown on, Rodney, and I’ll run you an IV when you’re back.” He turns back to me. “Between the antihistamine and the reaction, I’d like someone with him to make sure he doesn’t end up passing out and cracking the tiles with his thick skull.”  
  
“Oh, ha ha. I’ve been showering by myself since I was five, thank you,” Rodney grits miserably. He pushes the curtain back and steps out, dressed in a hospital gown and robe. His neck is making me want to itch my own skin off and he’s starting to look a little glazed. I’m thinking we might need a wheelchair coming back.  
  
“I’ll take care of him, Carson,” I promise. Teyla retches painfully, and we all turn to look. She's pretty pathetic, but still manages to glare at us for gawking. “Is she going to be okay?”  
  
“She’ll be fine,” he assures me. “She’ll have the mother of all hangovers come the morning, but it appears to be a simple case of overindulgence.” He pats Rodney on the back, grinning a little sadistically when Rodney winces. Has to feel like hell on that rash. “Off you go now and shower like a good boy.”  
  
Rodney draws himself up with all the dignity he can muster and walks past me toward the showers. I get the idea he couldn’t care less whether I follow or not, but it’s a good thing I do, because he stumbles just as we reach the door to the bathroom.  
  
He stiffens as I catch his arm to keep him from falling. “I can take it from here, Major, thank you,” he says in no uncertain terms, yanking his arm out of my grasp.  
  
“Damnit, Rodney, don’t be stupid.”  
  
Shit.  
  
Rodney’s almost never speechless. I’ve learned to be worried when he is. Without a word, he walks into the bathroom. “Wait here if you want, Major.” His voice is subzero once he finds it again. “I don’t really care.”  
  
The door locks behind him, which I know he knows means almost nothing to me. I can get in there if he needs me and he knows that. But I screwed up. Big time. He deserves some time to ignore me and everything else if he wants to. Maybe if I just give him some space, he can get back to normal.  
  
I realize I haven’t seen him relax since the storm passed. He’s been taking charge of all the repairs—which, to be fair, is kind of his job—so he hasn’t had a lot of time to socialize. But then, he hasn’t taken a lot of time to socialize either. He used to at least be good for the entertainment of showing Teyla a new Earth movie, complete with our dwindling supply of popcorn, but lately, he just hasn’t been around to ask.  
  
Or maybe I haven’t been looking for him. So clearly, giving him space hasn't been working, has it?  
  
The shower goes on and on, but he  _is_  washing off a ton of puke, and not even  _his_  puke, which is pretty disgusting, so I give it to him. For a while.  
  
After twenty minutes, the locked door opens because I told it to and I step into a huge cloud of steam.  
  
“McKay?”  
  
“I’m still here.”  
  
He might still be here, but he sounds pretty pathetic. I put a hand on the curtain the medical staff has rigged around the shower—Atlantians apparently didn’t care if everyone saw everything—and call out again. “You okay? I’m going to open the curtain.”  
  
“I’m fine, Major,” he replies quickly, with more strength. “I also don’t need an audience to take a shower." The water turns off and he snakes his right hand out to grope for the robe. It’s shaking again, so I hand him the robe and give him a chance to slide it on before I open the curtain.  
  
He's barely staying on his feet now, and the rash looks even worse. I'm hoping that's just because he scrubbed too hard.  
  
"You need a wheelchair?" I make it a question because he'd jump down my throat if I made it a statement of fact.  
  
Rodney brushes unsteadily past me. "I can walk, Major."  
  
And he does. In bitter silence, weaving a little bit. He flops onto his bed with the grace of a beached whale and looks up at Carson, who's looking at both of us, trying to figure out what's going on.  
  
"Are you going to put in the IV, or just leave me itching all night?" Rodney demands petulantly. He won't look at me and it's clear I've been dismissed.  
  
Carson shakes himself. "Ah, right. Let's have a last look." He motions for Rodney to shrug out of the robe then lifts his shirt, looking at the ugly rash and making a face. He turns back to the IV and slides the needle into Rodney's left arm, ignoring McKay's overdone shout of pain. "Get some sleep, Rodney," he says, patting McKay's leg. "I expect you'll need some steroid cream after that."  
  
"As long as Lieutenant Jeffers applies it..." Rodney's already drifting and the smile on his face puts one on my own.  
  
"Lieutenant  _Jefferies_  has asked not to have you on her service," Carson teases, standing protectively at the head of the bed.  
  
Rodney's eyes close and his shaking right hand waves vaguely. "Oh well, her loss." And he's gone.  
  
“He’ll be fine,” Carson assures me off-handedly. “At least his hypochondria stopped him from drinking any of the blessed stuff.” He looks me up and down. “I'm sure Rodney has had a discussion with your team about dealing with more serious reactions in the field?”  
  
I have to laugh. “Don't worry, McKay made sure we were all fully briefed before our first off-world mission. Complete with instructional videos.” Of course, I kind of thought he was blowing it out of proportion—you know, Rodney being Rodney. Maybe I'll review those files again.  
  
Carson chuckles quietly. “Yes, well, sometimes hypochondria isn't a bad thing.”  
  
I nod, looking at the scar on Rodney’s right arm and wondering why his hypochondria hasn't kicked in there. I ask the question I haven’t bothered to ask before. “How badly was he injured? With Kolya?”  
  
Carson sighs. “For such a small scar, those bastards did a fair amount of damage. Some of the cuts went all the way to bone.”  
  
“ _Some_  of the cuts?” I guess I knew he didn’t break after just one slice, but…  
  
“Aye,” Carson replies sadly. “They did a right number on him—we were lucky they didn’t nick a major blood vessel, though I assume they knew exactly what they were doing. Lucky the Ancients knew more than us about regenerating nerve tissue.”  
  
That explains the tremors. “He’s getting better, though, right?” I can't believe he'd be okay with being like that forever.  
  
“Oh, aye, he’s working harder at it than I’d’ve given him credit for—though the therapy sessions should start to taper off to a reasonable schedule soon.” He snorts. “I suppose when your hands are your livelihood even a man as lazy as Rodney McKay can be persuaded to keep up with it, but I know he'll be happy to have his life back.”  
  
I didn’t know about the therapy sessions, though it explains why he hasn't been around…  
  
“He’ll be all right, Major,” he tells me again, a hand on my arm to try to convince me. "He'll sleep like the dead until tomorrow and drive us all crazy with his itching for the next week, but it's not as bad as it could be."  
  
I give him a smile I don’t feel. Not as bad as it could be—he could've drunk the damn stuff and been dead inside a hour. He could have refused to tell Kolya anything and been dead three weeks ago. Kolya could have shot him when he stepped in front of Elizabeth...  
  
“I'd better brief Dr. Weir," I say, for lack of anything else.   
  
"Let's just hope Teyla's public drunkenness didn't cause a diplomatic incident," Carson returns with a smile. "She's going to be useless for a couple of days, I fear, Major."  
  
"No problem," I reply, looking over at her bed. Ford has made himself scarce now she's asleep, and I look at my watch, realizing it's only 1500 Atlantis time. Seems like this day has taken forever.  
  
"I think we can all use a few days of downtime."  
  
  
  
  
The infirmary is almost silent at 0500. Nurses are starting to fall asleep and patients are long-since snoring. Especially Teyla. I'd normally be running this time of day, but I figure I've run around this damn place enough lately. I'd rather check on my team.

Rodney's still sleeping. Doesn't even look like he's moved. Teyla must have been up at some point—she's wearing a set of scrubs and it looks like she's had a shower. Bet she's hell with a hangover. But the negotiations, while unorthodox, seem to be a success. The Yundon's chief used the radio Teyla left them to "inquire after her health" and set up a second get together. I hope they give her a chance to recover from this one first.  
  
I turn back to McKay's bed and take a seat next to it. My eyes just naturally gravitate to the scar.  
  
"It doesn't look like anything much, does it?"  
  
Rodney's sleepy voice has me jerking my gaze up to his face to find he's staring at it, too.  
  
"Carson told me it's worse than it looks." I try to hide the fact that it should have been Rodney telling me that.  
  
"It is," he mutters, absently flexing his hand. "Koyla's men were surprisingly persuasive."  
  
My head drops at the bitterness in his tone. “Look, Rodney, I’m sorry, okay?” God, I should have kept my mouth shut yesterday. “I was just kidding.”  
  
“Like many of your jokes, Major? Not actually funny.” He sighs and scratches at his stomach. “I suppose it’s no less than I deserve. But, as you and Lieutenant Ford so gleefully pointed out, I’m not Superman, so perhaps you shouldn’t have expected heroics.”  
  
Damn.  
  
“I know, Rodney.” Time to swallow your pride, John. “Sometimes I just forget you’re not one of my men.”  
  
He’s silent for a long moment. “No,” he finally allows. “I suppose I’m not.”  
  
At the sad tone, I have to go over what I just said again, and I want to kick myself. “That’s not what I meant! I just mean… You’re not a soldier, you know? You shouldn’t be expected to have to deal with people like Kolya.”  
  
The scratching stops. “I’m not good at lying, Major.” He sighs angrily. “I realize I should be, but I’m just not.” He worries the scar and his voice drops to an irritated whisper. “And at a certain point I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to save Atlantis if I was dead. So I did what I was told and waited to lie until it counted—or until we were all dead anyway. That way when he saw through my pitiful attempt and killed me, I’d know I did as much as I could.” He smiles slightly, and I'm surprised at the almost blood thirsty look it gives him. "And he wouldn't have time to gate off-world before he died with us."  
  
I settle back on the chair, the breath going out of me. Hell. He’s a soldier after all. A perfectly reasoned course of action in a hostage situation—play to your strengths, conceal your weakness, and wait for a break to turn the tables.  
  
I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up.  
  
“I’m glad my moral conundrum is so amusing, Major,” he snipes, groping for the bed control and sitting himself up straighter.  
  
“I was wrong, Rodney,” I say, holding his gaze so he sees the truth in my eyes. “You’d make one hell of a soldier.”  
  
He snorts. "Now my life is complete." He's scratching at his neck now. It's only a little red this morning—I bet most of it is psychosomatic. "Is anyone ever going to feed me?" He looks around at the lack of nurses, his gaze falling on Teyla. "Dragging a drunk Athosian all over an alien planet works up an appetite, you know?"  
  
“I bet. Good job with that, by the way,” I respond, watching her snore. “I hope the hangover is worth the negotiations.”  
  
“Oh it will be,” he replies, sounding more like himself than he has in a while. “They have something that tastes remarkably like coffee, but it sounds like it has twice the caffeine.”  
  
“Don’t give it to Radek.” That man could have a caffeine drip and he’d still want more.  
  
“He’ll get rationed, just like the rest of you.”   
  
“What about you?”  
  
"Finder’s fee,” he declares gleefully. “Unlimited access.”  
  
“Somehow I don't think Dr. Weir is going to see it that way.”  
  
"Seriously, I could starve to death, here," he mutters waving off my comment as unimportant. "Hello! Is there a nurse somewhere? An orderly? Something?"  
  
I relax for what feels like the first time since Teyla and I saw that killer storm. I don't know when Rodney got to be so important to my sense of normal, but now that he's acting like  _him_  again, I can start to get back to normal, too.  
  
"Major, you could help, you know?" Rodney snaps his fingers at me. "Seriously, does my sacrifice mean nothing to you? You could at least get me a cup of coffee!"  
  
Yep. Definitely back to normal.  
  
* * * *  
The End


End file.
